


Leave the Lights On

by destimushi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Feels, Captain America: The First Avenger Divergent, Infidelity, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8918425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destimushi/pseuds/destimushi
Summary: “The war is over, Buck. We can go home now.” 
Bucky was battered and bruised but he and Steve made it through the war, together. The world was moving on around him, and peace didn't seem all that enticing anymore when Bucky had to watch Steve move on too.It was the last night before everything changed. Tonight Bucky was going to get what he wanted, even if he knew he didn't deserve it.





	1. Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "Leave the Lights On" by Meiko. Or rather when I heard the song, this popped into my head and gave me such Bucky feels I just had to write it. Chapter 2 is the same events told in Steve's POV. 
> 
> As always, thanks to my wonderful beta [JhanaMay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay) for making this presentable despite wanting to stab me for making her read it. She also made the awesome graphic, the picture breaks my heart <3\. 
> 
> Click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvAi53lynSc) to listen to the song.

_“The war is over, Buck. We can go home now.”_

The party was in full swing when Bucky stepped into the bar. His dress uniform pressed against his skin, too warm and too restrictive, the collar threatening to cut off more oxygen than the endless fog of cigarette smoke. Bucky scanned the crowd and spotted him, the epitome of righteousness and American pride. It was hard to miss Steve these days; the Stevie he left behind would have choked to death in all this smog.

Blood boiled under his skin, a constant itch he couldn’t reach no matter how hard he twisted. He couldn’t focus on it, but he couldn’t ignore it either, and when the itch got so bad he thought he’d go mad, Bucky tried turning to the one thing that always took him out of his head for a while. Only this time there was no drowning himself in a bottle; the most potent liquor seemed to flow through him like water, leaving behind nothing but a sour taste in his mouth and the bitterness of despair coating his throat.

His sanctuary, the only place where Bucky could go to lose himself, was being dragged onto the dance floor by a dame, her dainty fingers resting delicately on Steve’s shoulder. She flowed around him like silk around marble, fluid, graceful, like she belonged with him. The smile on Steve’s face confirmed that. Agent Carter saw in Steve what Bucky always knew was there, and it was about damn time a dame as smart and pretty as Peggy saw past the shell—big and small—and loved the purity that was Steve Rogers’ soul.

It was always supposed to be this way. The hasty, stolen kisses and clumsy handjobs in leaky tents were their dirty little secrets. They were the actions of two desperate men unsure if they’d live long enough to see the sunrise, let alone have a future that required a long-term plan.

But if they did somehow make it through all the killing and horrors, if they did manage to come out of this war alive, they promised each other they’d make lives for themselves. Steve always blushed the prettiest shade of pink whenever Bucky or one of the Commandos brought up Carter. Every bashful smile and indignant word of protest skewered Bucky like a white-hot knife. There wouldn’t be life without Steve, but Bucky couldn’t be selfish like that. He couldn’t steal the chance for Steve to have a normal life with a wife and plenty of super-children.

So Bucky forced up the corners of his lips—until the smile felt genuine enough to fool even himself—before sauntering over to the rest of his buddies; they weren’t soldiers, they were war vets now. The war was over, and Bucky pretended with the rest of them like he knew for a second what he was going to do with his life.

===

This wasn’t their apartment anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time. When the parties finally ended and the cheering stopped, Bucky came home, but this space was just somewhere for Steve to lay his head until he could start his life with Peggy.  

Bucky dropped his key on the little table by the front door, the ghost of a smile touching his lips as he remembered the day they salvaged it from the alleyway. Or rather, Steve salvaged while Bucky watched.

“What a damn waste,” Steve had grunted while struggling with the piece of furniture, stubbornly unwilling to ask for help. Bucky had watched, unmoving, his arms folded loosely across his chest. He didn’t offer to help, because while they had meds for Steve’s lungs, there was no balm to soothe his wounded pride.

Bucky made his way past the living room to their bedroom at the end of the narrow hallway. The tiny room felt even smaller without Steve in it. There was a time when this room was his freedom, and that had made it as vast as the blue sky above their heads. Moonlight spilled through the large window, illuminating the crumpled sheets on Bucky’s side of the bed, a bitter reminder that Steve hadn’t come home last night. After tomorrow it would be official, and Steven Grant Rogers would truly be out of his life forever.

Behind him, the soft flick of a switch echoed and the light came on – a single, naked bulb that swallowed the silvery moonlight. Bucky jumped, blinking rapidly, his heart hammering against his ribcage as adrenaline shot through him like fire, like…

“Hey, Bucky.” Steve. Of course, it was Steve.  

Bucky—with his back still turned—shoved his fists into his pockets and squeezed shut his eyes, willing the buzz of excitement to fade. He hadn’t even heard the front door open; for a man of Steve’s size he still moved with such silent, cat-like grace. “What are you doing here the night before your big day?”

“I came…” Steve started, paused, and Bucky could hear the scuff of shoes on the dusty floor. “I came to drop off the keys.”

Everything blurred, sharp lines melted until the room was one giant mosaic of uneven shapes. Tears threatened to spill like unconfessed desires, secret and forbidden. Bucky took a deep breath, then another, and when he finally felt he was ready to form words, his nails were embedded the meat of his palms, drawing blood.

“Could’ve just given them to me at the ceremony tomorrow.” Bucky turned to face Steve with a smile because he had to, because if he didn’t keep the mask on all the bravado would crumble around him until he was naked and exposed.

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve muttered, large hands toying with the two little keys bound together by a piece of string. Silence descended upon them, foreign, alien. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time they’d stared at each other in such muted awkwardness. For the first time in their lives they were headed in opposite directions, and hell if that wasn’t more terrifying than Nazis and Hydra all rolled into one.

“I came to see you,” Steve broke the silence.

They barely saw each other anymore, and when they did it was either in passing or to mutter a tired goodnight. “Miss me, Stevie?”

“Yeah, I do.” You could always count on Captain America to inflict maximum damage with the least amount of effort. Those three little words lanced right through Bucky, hurting like hell.

The truth sat heavy in his chest, struggling to be freed. “I miss you too; miss us,” Bucky sighed. This was it. This was the end of the line, and if Bucky was going to crash and burn, he wanted to do so with zero regrets.

“Buck—”

One quick step, then another, and Bucky was pressed against Steve’s broad chest, his fingers twisting in handfuls of cotton as he dragged Steve in for a lingering kiss. Steve’s lips tasted of honey and teenage dreams. Dreams that Bucky had kept hidden until it was too damn late.

There was a fraction of a heartbeat when Steve didn’t kiss back, just stood there, his shoulders tense and his body rigid. But when the moment passed, and Steve’s massive hands were on his back, pulling him in and Steve’s tongue was pushing past his lips and licking into his mouth with gentle strokes, the world felt right. The ever-present tremor of barely contained rage faded until it was but a soft buzz, easily ignored.

Everything around him exploded into vivid colour. Bucky tilted his head back, his back arching as Steve’s hands pinned him against his granite-hard torso. His lungs screamed for air, but Bucky ignored them as he delved deeper into the kiss like he’d discovered chocolate for the first time all over again. Knowing that what they had was never going to last, Bucky couldn’t bring himself to kiss Steve like this during the war. 

It took months of dancing around each other and Bucky flirting with death one time too many, before Steve grabbed him by the collar and crushed their lips together. After that awkward first time—with cooling spend sticky in his underwear and Captain America’s softening dick in his mouth—Bucky didn’t want to waste precious time with tenderness.

Languid, soft kisses like these were a luxury a man like Bucky couldn’t afford, so he focused on what was important, what he thought he deserved.

If Bucky hadn’t been such a coward, maybe things would have been different. Maybe he wouldn’t have signed on with the army, and Steve wouldn’t have volunteered for some freaky science project. They could have spent the rest of eternity together in this tiny apartment, shared their nights in this tiny bedroom, and their tiny lives would have been big enough for the two of them.

So many maybe’s. So many possibilities, but there was only one big ending to the show that was Steve’s new life, and Bucky couldn’t afford the ticket. So maybe this was wrong and maybe Bucky was being selfish, but if he ended up in hell for one night of not lying to himself, it was a price Bucky was willing to pay.

Steve pulled back, his lips swollen and his chest heaving in a way that shouldn’t be so mesmerizing. He reached behind him, his fingers scrabbling for something. Bucky growled and yanked Steve away from the wall, away from the light switch. “Leave the lights on, Stevie, I want”—Bucky bit into Steve’s bottom lip, grinning when the metallic tang of blood hit the tip of his tongue—“to remember everything. Give me this much at least.” And when Steve looked like he was about to protest, Bucky whispered, “ _please_ .”   

His voice came out desperate and small, but perhaps it was the visible shiver that Bucky failed to suppress that was Steve’s undoing. Bucky’s feet moved on their own, or rather Steve had picked him up as if he weighed nothing and shuffled them both further into the room. Bucky’s calves hit the edge of the bed, and they fell with a puff of dust settling around them like pixie dust. Steve loomed over him, blue eyes glowing brighter than any star Bucky had ever seen.

“Bucky…” Steve swallowed thickly. “I’m...I’m getting married tomorrow.”

“I know that. I’m your best man,” Bucky breathed and ignored the ocean of guilt threatening to drown him. “I just...just this one time, Stevie. No trenches, no bullets raining down on us. Just this one night I want to feel you, have you inside me like we never could before.”

Whatever Bucky wanted to say next was forgotten when Steve’s eyes darkened; a storm raging behind the looking glass. The bed squeaked and groaned in protest under their weight; the last time Steve and Bucky had lain under the sheets they were rigid with their backs facing each other. Bucky had been too afraid to move, terrified of an accidental touch that would leave him yearning for more.  

Steve’s lips were all over him. Bucky couldn’t for the life of him remember when and where his clothes had disappeared, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered except for the press of hot skin and the expanse of muscles threatening to crush him. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go, writhing beneath Captain America. Bucky grinned even as Steve reared up, his hands braced on either side of Bucky’s head on the soft mattress.

“You know I love her.” Steve sounded wrecked in a way that was anything but pleasant, and it shattered the already broken pieces of his heart to know that he was the cause of Steve’s distress. “But I love you, too. I love you so damn much, Buck.”

“I know.” Bucky ran a calloused finger along Steve’s bottom lip. It was his trigger finger, the one that had taken so many lives in the name of patriotism. Bucky was the harbinger of death even as Steve radiated life. Maybe, just maybe, if Bucky let his finger linger long enough, some of that life might permeate his skin, and he wouldn’t feel so dead inside anymore. “I know that it's a secret and I know I've gotta keep it. There’s no life for us, Stevie, but right here, right now, make me yours.”

When Steve finally sank into him—all scorching heat and heavy thickness—Bucky was vibrating with the effort to relax and hold still. The stretch was painful from a lack of proper slick, but it felt good nonetheless; the pain chased away all his poisonous thoughts, leaving behind a peaceful emptiness.

Steve was on top of him, his lips plump where Bucky assaulted them endlessly. Sweat glistened on his perfect skin, unmarred because nothing in this world could ever mark him again. Large fingers dug into Bucky’s hips, blunt nails digging until Bucky was sure of the bruising that would follow. He welcomed it, moaned and whimpered and gasped for it, his every breath a soft whisper of Steve’s name. Bucky was so painfully hard, the sensitive underside of his cock trapped against Steve’s body as he thrust into him mercilessly. It was pained pleasure and pleasurable pain bouncing back and forth until Bucky was sure he was going mad.

It was becoming difficult to hang on. Bucky clawed mindlessly at Steve’s shoulders, knowing that the welts would disappear, along with any trace of Bucky, before the first break of dawn. Bucky was losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, his hips stuttering, his back arching as he sought to take Steve deeper. Thick arms slipped under his back, and Bucky felt himself being lifted, weightless, off the mattress to be impaled so deeply he forgot how to breathe.

And he came—with blinding bliss—untouched except for the near frictionless glide of his cock against Steve’s sweat soaked skin. There was a fuzziness to his vision, but he forced his eyes open and watched Steve through his post-orgasmic haze, burning every inch of him into Bucky’s memory like a brand lest he forget when the poison poured back to erode his brain.

All he wanted to do was to melt against Steve, but this wasn’t that kind of love-making. There would be no cuddling because Steve had places to be. So Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and gritted his teeth against the burn of clenching muscles as Steve fucked him into the mattress.

They were bathed in soft, glowing light and Bucky drank it all in through hooded eyes. Every line of corded muscle, every twitch of fluttering pulse beneath his jaw, and every crease between Steve’s pinched brows as he chased his release, all of it a snapshot of a moment in time where Steve was his. Steve might get married tomorrow, but no one could take this memory away from him.


	2. Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is written for the FWCG History Challenge on the [Fanfiction Writers Critique Group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/1735180153380643/)

_“The war is over, Buck. We can go home now.”_

_Bucky isn’t here. After everything they’d been through, surviving the Nazis and Hydra and the whole goddamn war, it annoys and pains Steve that his best friend isn’t here when the fighting is finally over._

Steve scanned the bar—squinting because even his serum–enhanced eyesight couldn’t penetrate the thick smog of cigarette smoke—and promised himself that it would be the last sweep. Captain America was a firm believer that everything happened for a reason, so if he couldn’t find Bucky this one last time then maybe he really did need to move on.

People packed into the jubilant bar like sardines, yet Peggy, with her cherry–red lips and perfect posture, still managed to surround herself in a bubble of detached sophistication. She raised her wine glass to him in salute, the corners of her painted lips curled in a devious little smile and there was a flirtatious spark in the chocolate–brown of her eyes; Steve waved back timidly, the sight chipping at the block of ice in his chest. Bucky wanted Steve to start a life with her because he knew Steve loved her, because Steve could have the life he’d always dreamt of with her.

They had promised each other one night in their leaky tent—as Bucky curled into Steve’s embrace, their limbs tangled and their eyelids heavy with post–coital bliss and fatigue—that if they made it out of the war alive, they’d make lives for themselves. Deep down Steve knew why Bucky wasn’t there because he knew if he showed up Steve would never keep that promise. Bucky was looking out for him ‘till the very end.

Delicate fingers landed on Steve’s shoulder like butterflies. How Peggy managed to sneak up on him was a mystery he didn’t want to have solved, because she was grinning at him with a million promises hidden in the wells of her soft dimples. Steve let himself be led onto the crowded dance floor. People parted before them like the Red Sea because he was Captain America, and she was the dame that had captivated the heart of their hero.

Steve’s chest warmed with each twirl of Peggy’s red dress as they spun round and round on the dance floor until the ice was replaced by a fire burning so brightly Steve couldn’t help but be consumed by it.

If he couldn’t have his childhood best friend, then there was no one better than Peggy Carter to start the better half of his life with. Peggy, whose bravery and cunning were second to none, and whose soft curls rested silken against his chin even as her eyes widened in seductive innocence when she glanced up at him through thick lashes.

Peggy, whose lips Steve finally dared to taste as he leaned in to claim a long overdue kiss. The bar erupted in deafening cheer. Peggy pulled back and laughed, her cheeks rosy from embarrassment and one too many glasses of wine. Steve grinned bashfully, but he didn’t pull away from the soft, pliant body pressed against him.

“Let’s hear it for Captain America!” a familiar voice shouted from the bar. Steve glanced up, and his chest seized painfully when blue–grey eyes met his. Bucky was smiling at him—at _them_ —with glass raised and crinkles in the corners of his eyes.

And it hurt because that smile was real.  

===

This wasn’t their apartment anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time. When the parties finally ended and the cheering stopped, Bucky went home, but this wasn’t Steve’s home anymore, not since he got down on one knee and asked Peggy to marry him.

Steve spent his days away to give Bucky space, and when he did finally stumble into the one bedroom apartment late at night, Steve was only too aware of the rigid body in bed next to him; the few inches separating them might as well be the Grand Canyon.

Steve stared at the chipped paint on the apartment door, a calloused finger tracing the cracks. They were supposed to repaint this together, but work and life and the struggles of making ends meet got in the way. Then there was the war, and now that the war was over, it was all too damn late.  

A small mustard stain sat smugly on the front of Steve’s shirt. It was from two days ago, a reminder that he hadn’t come back to the apartment the night before. He should have, their time together was limited, but he couldn’t face another night of a murmured “good–night” with his back turned to Bucky until the other man’s breathing evened in troubled slumber.

The key slipped into the lock, but the door was already open. Steve stepped into the apartment cautiously, his senses dialed up high as he navigated through the dark; he didn’t need enhanced vision to know where all the furniture was even if this wasn’t his home anymore.

Every muscle in Steve’s body was coiled tight, ready to spring at a moment’s notice until he spotted the familiar silhouette standing in the bedroom. Bucky’s name was on the tip of his tongue, but his throat closed up, the muscles stubbornly paralyzed, so instead Steve felt along the wall and flicked on the light.

Bucky jumped, the movement so slight Steve could almost convince himself that it hadn’t happened. Steve swallowed and was relieved to find that his vocal cords had unstuck themselves. “Hey, Bucky.”

“What are you doing here the night before your big day?” Bucky’s voice was tense, like a rope pulled taut ready for the tightrope walkers to perform their act.

“I came…” He came because Steve was drawn to Bucky like a moth to the flame. It would be so easy to swallow the distance between them, pull Bucky into his arms, and let the world melt away until all that mattered was the sound of Bucky’s heartbeat and the clean soap smell of his hair. Steve made to move, stopped himself, and in a moment of panicked indecision, he said the first thing that came to mind. “I came to drop off the keys.”

Bucky shrugged. “Could’ve just given them to me at the ceremony tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve muttered and fished out the keys from his pocket. Silence stretched between them like taffy, sticky and cloying until Steve could hardly breathe. He could see that Bucky was hurting, and with each passing second, a little piece of Steve’s resolve crumbled. “I came to see you.”

It felt good saying those words, to finally be honest with himself. Steve was no righteous hero, and the mantle of Captain America sat heavy on his chest, crushing him until there was nothing left but dust.

“Miss me, Stevie?”

“Yeah, I do.” He missed watching Bucky writhe beneath his fingertips, missed the sight of him as he lost himself in the heat of Steve’s mouth, missed hearing his name rolling from Bucky’s tongue like a prayer.

“I miss you too; miss us.” Bucky’s eyes lit up as if a weight had lifted. The corners of his mouth twitched just enough for Steve to make out the faintest of smiles.

“Buck—”

Steve watched Bucky close the distance between them, stunned when Bucky’s lips pressed warm and undemanding against his own. It was a lover’s kiss; the kind Bucky would never let them have before. Guilt punched him in the gut harder than any fist and an image of Peggy floated before his eyes. Steve was being unfair to Peggy; unfaithful to the woman he would swear his life to when the sun came up. There was no acceptable excuse for his actions, no explanation good enough to ease his conscience, but Bucky was right there like he’d always been, just within reach. Steve shoved the image of Peggy into the deep, dark corners of his mind and opened himself to the lick of tongue quivering against the seam of his mouth.

Bucky felt right in his arms, his body compact and lithe, slotted right up against him like a jigsaw puzzle. The kiss deepened until Steve was gasping, pulling air from the depth of Bucky’s lungs like a man drowning. His tongue lapped at the inside of Bucky’s mouth, drunk on the taste of summer and strawberries, a sweetness that reminded Steve of simpler days.

His hands roamed up and down Bucky’s back, desperately trying to memorize the curve of his spine and the jut of his shoulder blades, but they didn’t feel like they were big enough to accomplish the task. Steve pulled back, his chest heaving and his lips tingling with a need to kiss every inch of Bucky’s skin. The bed beckoned, the neatly made sheets a personal challenge. Steve reached behind him, impatient fingers scrabbling for the light switch but Bucky gripped the front of his shirt and yanked him away from the wall.

“Leave the lights on, Stevie, I want—” Bucky broke off to bite into Steve’s bottom lip, breaking the skin “—to remember everything. Give me this much at least.” Steve paused to flick his tongue over the teeth marks, the silence going on long enough that Bucky’s eyes widened in panic. “ _Please_.”

Bucky’s voice was incredibly soft and desperate, and he looked so alone. Bucky had never begged him for anything, and the pleading hitch of breath—so foreign falling from Bucky’s lips—was a punch to the gut Steve was not prepared for. It hurt more than a bullet wound, more than the excruciating pain when the serum was injected into his frail body, and suddenly Steve couldn’t move fast enough as he scooped Bucky into a bone crushing embrace.

Steve shuffled forward until Bucky’s legs hit the bed and they tumbled back to land with a bounce. The mattress dipped, the sheets bunching up beneath them to form a soft cocoon. Steve braced his hands on either side of Bucky’s head and felt himself being pulled into the galaxy behind Bucky’s eyes.  

“Bucky…” Steve swallowed thickly. It didn’t seem fair for him to do this and step into his new life tomorrow. Didn’t seem fair to leave Bucky behind with nothing but a bitter memory. “I’m...I’m getting married tomorrow.”

“I know that. I’m your best man,” Bucky breathed softly. “I just...just this one time, Stevie. No trenches, no bullets raining down on us. Just this one night I want to feel you, have you inside me like we never could before.”

Each word punched a hole in Steve’s resolve until the whole thing came crumbling down and Steve couldn’t get them naked fast enough. The bed groaned as he shifted to wedge himself between the vee of Bucky’s legs, his knees pushing them further apart until Bucky was spread out beneath him like dessert, ready to be devoured.

And devour Steve did as his hungry mouth traced every line of taut muscle and soft skin. Bucky’s clothes, along with his own, sat in an indignant pile on the floor, already forgotten as Steve nibbled his way up along Bucky’s heaving chest to seal their lips together for yet another fevered kiss.

“You know I love her,” Steve whispered as he pulled back, nauseating guilt coursing through him at the mention of his soon–to–be wife, “but I love you, too. I love you so damn much, Buck.”

“I know.” Bucky ran a calloused finger along Steve’s bottom lip as he stared up at him. Bucky’s eyes were too bright, haunted. Steve rolled the finger between his lips, his tongue swiping against the pad in gentle strokes, hoping to ease whatever it was that made Bucky shiver beneath him. “I know that it's a secret and I know I've gotta keep it. There’s no life for us, Stevie, but right here, right now, make me yours.”

When Steve finally eased into Bucky—his body soft and pliant and hot as sin—it was like coming home. Fingernails dug into Steve’s shoulders, the pain a guiding beacon as Steve’s hips moved as if possessed. He wanted more, wanted to crawl inside the man under him so he could bathe in this welcoming warmth forever.

What they were doing was wrong, yet how could love as pure as this be anything but right? Steve felt alive, as if everything was right in the world and he could finally rest in peace; he wanted to shout his pleasure into the night and bite his thumb at the world that lorded their expectation over his head.

Steve gathered Bucky close, irritated that the confines of their skins prevented Steve from melting into the man in his arms. Bucky’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck, his nails raking along Steve’s skin to leave behind burning welts that would disappear before the break of dawn. It saddened Steve to think that nothing Bucky could ever do would leave a mark on him; he would have no evidence—not even a small scar—that anything had ever happened between them.

Bucky’s cock strained against his stomach, precome leaking profusely until he tensed and his mouth opened in a silent scream. Ropes of come, the ultimate confirmation of Bucky’s pleasure, painted Steve’s chest in hot splashes. For a moment Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed, his body boneless as Steve fucked him through his orgasm. It didn’t take long for Bucky’s focus to hone in on him again as he clenched deliciously around Steve’s cock, milking him for anything and everything Steve had to give.

Steve didn’t want to tip over the edge, as if refusing to finish would mean that the war would never be over and he could hold onto the illusion that he and Bucky could be together. Everything came to an eventual end, and when Bucky’s lips pressed desperately against Steve’s and his nails dug into Steve’s shoulders, Steve shot his release deep inside Bucky with a finality; the end of a chapter in their lives. Tomorrow he might get married, but tonight, under the glow of a single naked light bulb, Steve belonged to Bucky.


End file.
